


The Dragon's Dagger

by stopmopingstarthoping



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Banter, Bisexual Character, Canon Related, Chess, Dancing, F/M, HighSpecs, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping
Summary: Ignis and Aranea, a series of moves.





	1. Why

They strode into the half-empty bar with a sigh of relief.

“Just the two of you tonight, eh?” She eyed them appraisingly.  "Where’s your charge?“

"Princess decided -”  Gladio began.

Ignis cut him off. “ _Noctis_ and Prompto wished to remain back at the caravan. They are playing a game and relaxing.”

Gladio chuckled at his tone and strolled over to the bartender to order a drink.

“What brings you here, Commodore?”

She laughed and waved her hand.  "Please, drop the formality. I’m here to take a breather, same as you.“  She pulled up a chair, turned it around, and swung her leg over the back, settling her leather-clad ass over the seat. She gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Feel free.”  Her eyes followed Gladio over a swig from her bottle and she laughed.  Ignis’ eyes followed and he saw Gladio, already chatting up the little blond bartender.

He looked a  _lot_ like Prompto. Enough to be remarkable. Ignis’ eyes connected with Aranea’s, which flickered with amusement. They shared a smile that turned into a hint of a laugh and Ignis sat, leaving Gladio to his business.

“So how’d you get the night off?  I figured Mom and Dad were always picking up after the kids.”

Ignis sighed and leaned his head on his hand. “Please, no.” He held up his other hand tiredly.

“I suppose you are more of a butler than a parent. Still, bet that pays really well.  So that’s something.”

He just looked at her, and wondered if it was possible to feel any more weary than he already did. “I’m going to need a stronger drink for this conversation,” he groaned, and moved to get up.

Aranea grabbed Ignis’ wrist and flagged down a server. “Don’t you dare take the big guy away from his cutie.”

Unless you’re looking for some diversion tonight too.“  She surveyed the bar.

Ignis flopped back down. "That’s not something - I generally have time to invest in.”

“Lack of time or just not what you’re into?”

He shifted uncomfortably.  It had been a long time, but he didn’t see how that was any of her business. “That’s rather personal, don’t you think?”

She shrugged and finished her beer, placing the empty bottle on the server’s tray. “I’ll take another one of those, please, sweetheart.”

The waitress grinned at her. “And for your friend here?”

Aranea tipped her head a bit, as if evaluating whether she and Ignis were, indeed, friends, but just said. “He’s looking for something strong.  I’m sure you can come up with something real nice.” She slid a few gil onto the tray and winked at the woman, who laughed and bounced off.

Ignis watched the pretty waitress giggle with Prompto’s doppelganger behind the bar, and turned back to Aranea. “Perhaps I am the one holding you back this evening. As you said, feel free.” He motioned toward the bar.

Aranea laughed and leaned back against the wall, propping a booted foot up on the chair.  "That’s - actually not a terrible idea, but quite frankly, I’m exhausted.  Today kicked my ass more than usual, and I’d hate to disappoint her.“

So, here to get blackout drunk?  I can relate to that. Little bit of oblivion hits that reset button once in a while.”

Ignis looked at her blankly, again. “It is possible to relax without destroying oneself for the following morning.”

“So,” she drew our the word, “show up, babysit the beefcake, have two drinks, be exasperated and bored, and leave empty-handed? That the plan?”

Sounds great,“ she said with heavy sarcasm, "Specs.” The last word popped out of her mouth with a little more sibilance and force than she intended, and she mentally counted the number of beers she’d had so far.  She turned her head away and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.  "Can I call you Specs?“

"It’s certainly bloody better than Mum.”

She laughed again, and Ignis was surprised to find his gaze lingering on her. He usually found himself pulled toward the masculine, but he’d never really bothered to categorize and label feelings that would inevitably fail to crystallize into action anyway. At least he’d be more entertained than he’d anticipated.

“As for being bored, I rather think you’ve got some responsibility there,” he drawled, collecting himself a bit and taking his drink smoothly from the server with a slight nod.  

Restored to his normal gracefulness, Ignis glanced over to Gladio and found him deep in conversation with the bartender, who was jostling a silvery shaker, his hip jutted suggestively toward Gladio.  From a barstool, Gladio smoldered at the smaller man, and Ignis smirked.

“I don’t think he’ll need any babysitting tonight,” he said, and sipped the concoction the redheaded waitress had brought.  It was, as requested, quite strong, but well-balanced.  He was surprised that it was not cloyingly sweet, and resolved to leave a generous tip and recall the name of this bar for the next time they passed through.

“I’m impressed,” she said, following Ignis’ gaze.  “Bartenders are notoriously hard to crack.  Particularly that one.”

“I see.  Finding yourself outclassed by the, ah, beefcake in the corner?”

The hand slung across her knee curled up in a shrug, and she laughed again.  “It’s not a competition.  I wish him well.”

So what do you do when you’re not caretaking?”

“What do I - do you mean hobbies?”

“Yeah. What’s fun to you? Assuming you have time for that.”

“I - why are you asking?”  He was flustered again, and annoyed that she’d pressed directly on a sore spot.

“Because I think I might get an interesting answer.”

He stopped mid-thought and peered at her.  She got up and headed toward the back of the bar.

“Yes,  _interesting_.”  She leaned close and said it almost teasingly.  “I’ll be right back. Come up with a fun answer for me, will ya?” She flipped her hand lazily as she strode off.

He pondered as he waited for her to come back.  He was annoyed that he felt oddly pressured to be interesting - hell, he could just leave before she came back.  What did he care?  He settled back with his drink and absent-mindedly pulled out his notebook, writing down the blend of grapefruit and rosemary he tasted.  He spied a small sketch on the facing page as Aranea returned.

“Astronomy.”

“Yeah?  You dig stars?” she asked, settling herself back into her chair.  “Why?”

Why was - well.  “How” - he was prepared to answer that.  He’d been responsible for much of Noct’s education of course, and the subjects included astronomy, as well as the physics necessary to understand it.  But “why” did it hold his interest - now, that was a different matter.

“You’re good at asking questions.”

“And you’re not good at avoiding them.  Why stars?”

He thought, looking slightly upward.  “I suppose - there are a couple of reasons.  One logical, one more…aesthetic.  First, the organization of the cosmos follows specific rules, just as the construction of our own world does.  The complex nature of how that builds on itself is interesting in its structure and rewarding to learn.  And second, it sets perspective.  Reminds you of your place in the world, and that it’s small.  It may sound odd, but I find that comforting.”

She considered how much had likely been placed on his shoulders at a very young age, and didn’t find it odd at all.  

“Your turn.”  He recrossed his legs.

“Huh?”  She paused, bottle half lifted toward her lips.  

“What do you do when you’re not - “ he gestured to her attire.

“When I’m not fighting, fucking, or sleeping?  Good question.”  She pondered.

“I play guitar. Some.”

He raised his eyebrows a bit and sipped his drink.

“Don’t get to play much anymore - it’s pretty much impossible to carry a nice instrument around with me in the field.  But sometimes - places like this that get bands through town - they’ll let me know when someone loads in and I ask ‘em if I can play a bit.  

Before you ask me, I think the reasons I like it are pretty much the same reasons you like to gaze at the stars.  A shit-ton to learn, but also helps you realize your own petty bullshit isn’t everything.  And there is this blissed-out moment, when you’re learning something hard, or playing something great, where it just flows, and you’re not thinking about anything else.  Hard to find that feeling, outside of -”

He interrupted.  “Fighting, and fucking?”

She laughed.  “You get it, Specs.”

They settled into a companionable flow of conversation, and Aranea was surprised that he didn’t seem like most people his age she’d met. There was a calmness, a sophistication that charmed her.  Somebody who could actually listen, or shut the fuck up for once if that’s what the moment called for. He had no brash desire to be heard, no need to shove his thoughts out to be admired. He was measured, and she respected that.

He was also, at this point, a bit tipsy. He’d ordered another one of those grapefruit things from the waitress, and it was clear he didn’t drink a lot. His chin rested on his hand, and he blinked sleepily.  

“I’d say mission chill the fuck out seems to be accomplished.”

His eyes swiveled to her face and he smiled. The world did seem to have slowed down. He was fuzzy and incredibly tired, a feeling only exacerbated by the warmth of the liquor spreading through his chest.

Ignis stretched like a cat, and Aranea was surprised at the twang of actual desire that shot through her belly at the simple gesture.

“I should grab Gladio and head back.”  He looked around. The blond bartender was also missing.

“I’m sure he can find his way back. You, on the other hand, look like you need an escort to fight off sleep. You okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t trouble yourself.”  He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair where he’d taken it off at some point during their conversation. “I appreciate the company.  It certainly has been…interesting.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she saluted him with her bottle.

He strode away, a little unsteadily. The air outside felt crisp in his nose, and there was a fresh alertness behind his eyes he hadn’t felt in a long time.


	2. The Game Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle, chess, conversation - they're all just games, aren't they?

Basilisks roamed the grass beyond them, just far enough not to notice their presence, but close enough.  Gladio and Noctis looked at them, then looked at the other two.  Noctis rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  The four continued to look at each other and at their targets warily, before Prompto jumped at the sound of a boot clanking on the stone behind them.

“Aranea!  Hey, good timing.”  He skipped back a step and tried to look nonchalant about it.  “How does she _do_ that?” he hissed in Noctis’ ear.

“Commodore.”  Gladio’s voice was wary as he stepped forward to her.  “You here to help?  This is a big hunt and we’re not quite equipped for it.  If you’re interested, we actually could use a hand,” he said.

Aranea shifted her weight, lance in hand.  “I’d planned on taking this one down myself, but . . . it would be faster.  I suppose I could split it with you.  Half for you all, half for me.”

“No way!” said Prompto.  “There’s four of us, and one of you - that’s not fair at all.”

“This is ridiculous -” Gladio started.  Noctis snorted and threw up his hands, and Prompto continued to complain.

“Seventy-thirty,” rolled a smooth baritone over Prompto’s head.  He looked at her evenly. “Our favor.”

“Sixty-forty, Four-Eyes.”

“Noct?” asked Ignis, as always, deferring.

“Fine, whatever.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Highness.”  She shook Noctis’ hand but made eye contact with Ignis.

Even with five of them, the fight was hard.  In the field, Aranea referred to them all by first name - no nicknames, no slang, just the most direct way to get their attention possible.  She surveyed the field, assessing when it was best to go after a single basilisk by herself, and when a coordinated group attack was more effective.  She didn’t commandeer or insert herself into their well-practiced rhythm with one another, but instead supported and flowed with the group, taking care of herself as necessary.

Ignis was grudgingly impressed.  He hadn’t been ready to admit that a mere mercenary could have the kind of strategic intelligence he prided himself on.  He narrowly missed a hard blow and rolled, only to hear the sharp clang of a magitek lance behind him.  The look on her face was fierce, and she let out a sharp yell as her lance connected.  

They butchered the slain beasts and headed back to collect their reward, dusty and dirty.  Aranea collected her share of the meat and the pay and disappeared, a grin gleaming through her black helmet.  

Ignis headed for the shower, ready for a break before he needed to prepare dinner for the group.   He exhaled as the water hit his forehead and closed his eyes.  A flash of hard eyes, the ring of a lance, and a savage cry forced its way into his mind, and he was surprised to feel himself stir.  He laughed to himself and shook his head as he soaped the day’s grime away.

When Aranea walked back into the bar, late afternoon had just begun to turn into evening, and the smell of coffee still pervaded over the sticky-sweet scent of alcohol. She saw Ignis over by the window, a cup of coffee next to him, staring at a chessboard. She sauntered over to him and looked over his shoulder.  He was playing both sides; moving pieces and pondering with his arms folded across his body.  

“Chess for one, eh?  Not a lot of challenge in that. Buy me a drink?”  She sat down, uninvited.  

“Hm, yes,” Ignis hummed, still absorbed in the pieces in front of him. “Oh, uh - apologies.” His head shot up to see her sitting across from him and a slight, startled blush tinged his cheekbones. He took a moment to fully register what she'd said, and then smirked.  “No, actually after the deal you struck today, I rather think you should pick up mine.” He looked out at the sky.  “I would say it's a bit early, but it has been a long day.”

“It certainly has.” She sighed. “Nice work out there.”

He nodded.  “And yourself.”  He motioned toward the chessboard.  “Do you play?”

“I know how.  Can’t say I’ve done it in several years.”  Her expression clouded a bit, and she stared at something just outside the window. 

He set up the pieces.  She watched his long fingers flick them into place with efficient, practiced skill. He gestured, offering her the choice of which side of the board to take.  She arched an eyebrow at him and stayed sitting with the black pieces in front of her.

He moved a pawn toward the center of the board.

“Where did you learn your lancework?  It’s quite impressive.”

She moved one of her own pawns in response.

“Same place you did, Specs.  From someone who was better than me.”

He steepled his fingers and tapped them to his lips. “Ah, the Altissian Defence. Interesting.  Not unexpected.”  He sat back, thought, and moved his knight.

“Puzzling, that you’re out collecting hunts rather than doing the Emperor’s bidding.”  He watched her fingertips linger over the smooth top of one piece, and then another, before she answered with another pawn.  

“Simply perplexing, I’m sure.”  Her voice was dry. He moved his own pawn, and the corner of Aranea’s mouth quirked. “The Meldacio Bind. I'd expect nothing less in response.”  Her arms folded over the back of the chair as she stared at the board and thought, then moved. He moved another pawn, and she captured it with her own.  “You’re a good negotiator.  Get a lot of practice at the Citadel?”

Ignis smirked a bit as he immediately captured her piece with his knight.  He studied her, wondering how many moves ahead she was capable of thinking.  “Yes, though I’m afraid I never truly got an opportunity to ‘practice.’  Negotiation is, sadly, one of those skills where there is rarely a consequence-free opportunity to try and fail.”

“Still, you strike a good bargain for someone who’s never had to negotiate a paycheck in his life.  Or so I assume.”  She moved her own knight.

“Hm. Assuming. A dangerous venture.”

He moved another pawn.

"But, in this case, correct.”  He watched her as she considered her next move.  She’d also cleaned up after their battle, and his gaze lingered on her dewy skin.  

She lowered her lashes and a small smile curled at her lips.  He had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that she’d read his mind.  She moved her pawn two spaces forward to threaten his knight, and he quickly retreated. 

Aranea peeked up at him innocently through her lashes.  She had, in fact, noticed him staring, and enjoyed it immensely.  She’d be lying if she said his moves on the battlefield hadn’t inspired some impure thoughts in her own head as well.  She brought out one of her bishops, and let her eyes catch his as she let go of the piece.  

Green eyes reflected a bit of surprise, and then a bit of challenge.  The two of them moved pawns out onto the board, flanking the other pieces and developing their strategies.  Ignis glanced up at the clock and sighed.

“Well played, so far, Commodore. Care to continue this later?”

“Call me Aranea.”  She looked around. “I don't think we can really permanently reserve this table.  Won't they just put it away?”  She got up and swung her jacket on.

“I would think anyone trained at the Academy would be able to play chess without a board.”

She stopped and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yes, officer corps, if I don't miss my mark. And I don't think I do.”

Her gaze darkened, and she let his statement hang in the air for a moment before giving him a curt nod and walking away.  

Without turning around, she tossed, “Pawn to a4,” over her shoulder, and kept walking.  


	3. The King's Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castling - a move where the king and rook "jump over" each other - is known as a king's move. Ignis and Aranea talk around their positions in relationship to the Crown.

The next time Ignis saw Aranea was at the street market. He saw her examining fruit, and sidled up next to her, considering spices.  “Knight to c1,”  Ignis said, without further prelude. He had a shopping bag tucked over one arm and seemed quite content.

She looked over at him and smiled. “Good morning to you, too.  Castle, kingside.”

“I see you've had no trouble keeping up with our game.  Seems I was right.”

“Seems like you were.  Hey, you ever had these before?”  She tossed a round, pink fruit in her hand, nodding at the vendor and handing over some gil.

“Can't say that I have.” He looked thoughtful. “I'll take three.”  He put the fruit in his basket and continued on with Aranea.

“Didn't you even want to try it first?  I'll give you a bite.”  She contemplated whether the skin was edible, taking a small nibble. She pulled back, examining the fruit. “It’s good. Sweet. Little bit tart.”

He looked at her and grinned at her description, watching her lick a bit of juice from the side of her thumb.  She held it out to him. Instead of taking it from her, he dipped his head and took a bite as she held it. His lip grazed the tip of her thumb ever so slightly, and she struggled to remain nonchalant.  As he leaned back slowly and chewed, she suspected he'd done it on purpose.

“Hm, this may be the ingredient I've been looking for.  It's worth a try, anyway.  Thank you.”  He hadn't, in fact, touched her on purpose, but he very much enjoyed having flustered her.

Aranea pulled her attention back to the conversation. “Ingredient for what?”

“I’ve been trying to recreate a pastry that Noctis had years ago, in Tenebrae.  It had a distinct fruit flavor that I haven’t been able to find again.”

“You’ve been trying to recreate a recipe for _years_?  Wow.  That’s dedication.”

He shrugged.  “It’s not terribly important, clearly, but it is a nice diversion. Noctis liked it very much, and the whole process, I think, just reminds us of simpler times.  I’ve been trying for years to get the taste just right.  I may never do it, but it’s a familiar pattern for the two of us.”  He smiled fondly, thinking of all of his failed, yet tasty, efforts over the years.

Aranea smiled in return.  “He’s a lucky kid.”   

Ignis grew serious.  “Not a kid.  Not at this point.”  The newspaper headlines describing the fall of Insomnia flashed through both of their minds.  

“Suppose you’re right.”  She was quiet.  “Long road ahead.”

He nodded.  

“He ready?”

“Of course.  But would I answer you honestly if he wasn’t?”

She shook her head in amusement.  “Loyal to a fault, aren't you?"

"No."

"What are you talking about? You're as loyal as they come."  She teased a bit.

"I've always understood that phrase to refer to sniveling yes-men and lackeys who dare not express a word of disagreement.  That, I am most certainly not."  His tone remained serious.  

"It's just something people say, Ignis."

"Words are important. Knight to c3.”

She mentally contemplated the mild threat that move presented to one of her pawns, and he pushed up his glasses, nodded slightly, and strode away.

The bar was dark and warm, deep tones of brown and red.  A low hum of music softened the surfaces.  Aranea saw Ignis sitting at the bar, sipping what looked like whiskey, and sidled up to him appreciatively.

“Good?”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth sliding up despite himself.   Aranea signaled to the bartender, pointing at Ignis’ glass and taking a seat next to him.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said with exaggerated surprise.  “Queen to a5.”  She smiled demurely while crossing her legs and swiveling her knees toward him, not quite touching.  He looked down, forced himself not to squirm, and answered.

“Queen to d2.” Ignis straightened up and slung an elbow across the back of his barstool, suppressing a smile as she cocked an eyebrow at him.  She paid for her drink and raised it at him.

As conversations will, their talk inevitably drifted toward people they both knew.

“Good guy, Nyx Ulric.  Really good guy,” she sighed, shaking her head.  “Definitely deserved more than a friends-with-benefits kind of deal…”

Ignis coughed and straightened his shoulders.  “I - I _really_ don’t see how that is any of your . . .”  He trailed off when he looked at her and realized she was talking about herself.

Aranea was breathless with laughter.  “Well, guess we have that in common then.”

“How do you know him?  Were you at the Academy together?”

“Did.  Was. Yes.”  Her eyes were hard and impassive.

They grew quiet.

“Why didn't you finish?” Ignis asked.

Aranea sighed.  “You're not letting go of this, are you? You’d think, being so close with the young scion of House Meathead, you could just find out.”  

He crossed his arms, waiting. She sipped her whiskey, looked at it appreciatively, and set it down.

“Fine. Thrown out. Knight to a6.”

“Bishop to e2,” Ignis responded, positioning. It didn't shock him, given her current status as a mercenary, but it did mystify him a bit. He had yet to see the weak point in her technique, strategy, or knowledge that would have justified such a drastic action.  While the obvious choice was character - particularly given her recent affiliation with Niflheim - that didn't square with the person who'd been fighting alongside them, either.  “What grounds?”

“Insubordination. I'm sure you're shocked. Knight, c5.”  She resumed the offensive in the game, but toyed with her glass, running her fingers along the sides.

“Loyalty is a funny concept, you know.”

“Hm? How so?”

She thought about how to put her feelings into words. Loyalty to a person, or to the idea they stand for?  What about when the means are unjustifiable,  even to the most noble ends? She frowned.  “It’s easy for you.  Noctis is a stand-in for,” she waved her hand, “everything, all this, at the same time. Insomnia, and Lucis, and all us petty little peasants who live in it.  It’s easy to be loyal to that.”  She looked at Ignis, for once no teasing in her tone.

Before he could protest, she continued.

“He's good for this, you know,” she said.  “Got a good heart and knows who to trust.”

Ignis dipped his head in acknowledgement.  “Castle, kingside.”


	4. Removing the Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea has a bad night with bad memories. Warning for alcohol abuse.

Aranea was drunk. _Piss drunk_ , she thought to herself bitterly, and slumped back in her seat, staring out the window.  She saw the four men walk past the window and groaned. _Not in the mood for this_ , she thought as she watched Prompto flit and bounce around the edges of all of them and Ignis’ teeth flash in a laugh as Noctis clapped him on the shoulder. They were happy, unburdened for the moment.  

 _Not dead_ , she thought to herself as she took another sip from the double vodka in front of her.  She looked at the drink skeptically and thought, _You, my friend, are what the stiffs at the Academy used to call a bad coping mechanism._

Ignis’ questioning had unearthed things she very much wanted to forget. This entire evening had been a replay of poisonous memories - from the looks of horror on the faces of her thesis committee to the tersely worded, formal letter she'd gotten the next day.  She'd thrown it out, but had been unable to forget the words on the page. _Not even signed by any one person.  Just “the Board,” so they could hide behind their rules._ The way everyone had just - stopped talking to her and instead started talking _about_ her, in whispers and sideways glances, unwound again in vivid detail in her mind.  

She was frustrated that those youthful hurts still had power over her after so much time. Earlier in the day, she'd realized that most of those friends, both the ones she'd met at school and the few who'd stuck by her later, were likely dead now. It was that realization that had pushed her over the edge tonight.  Gods, she could see their fucking _faces_.  She didn't make a habit of being a drunken idiot much anymore, but, well. _Old bad habits die hard._

She moved to get up and leave, but the raucous four young men trampled their way in the door and she realized she'd been spotted. _Ifrit’s fucking balls._ She slouched in the booth a bit and pushed a hand into the front of her hair, hoping she could still possibly avoid detection. _Why can’t these shithole towns have more than one bar?_

“Aranea!”  Prompto chirped.  He strode happily over to the table but stopped in his tracks when he saw her expression.  It was thunderous, and he stepped back. “Do you uh, do you want company?”

“Not really.”  Her voice was quiet with just a hint of venom.  The four of them found another table, and she continued to drink and attempt not to think.  

She waited for the fuzziness to set in.  It was taking entirely too long. She was still all ragged edges and rotten memories.  Specific images had given way to general impressions of blame, and loneliness, and desperation. The vodka had lost its bitter edge and was going down easy, which was a good sign.  She was rattled, though, by the presence of the others, and she hated feeling like she had an audience.  She waved her hand as the server went by and clunked her empty glass onto her tray. When she brought the next one, Aranea noticed the cocked eyebrow and realized she’d probably be cut off soon.  It had been a long time since she’d pulled the old “drinking in the motel room” routine, but tonight was going to be one of those nights, apparently. Her thoughts were entirely too clear, still, and that was unacceptable.

By the time she was halfway through her next drink, Aranea barely noticed who came and went in the busy bar.  She paid her check, and continued to sip at her drink until it was gone - surprisingly quickly. _Good_ , she thought, realizing it wouldn’t be too much longer before she was able to escape her thoughts and smiling wryly at the faint tingle that had set in.  

She stood up and shoved her chair back, a little too forcefully.  She stumbled a little, and looked around to check if anyone had seen it.  The bar was busy, and she thought she’d gone unnoticed, until she spied a pair of cool green eyes up at the bar, watching her.  Had he stayed behind because of her? _That’s kind of adorable and also fucking annoying_ , she thought.  She glared at him and headed for the door with exaggerated steadiness.  She rolled her eyes when she heard bootheels clip behind her and felt a hand at her elbow. She shook it off, nearly losing her balance again.  

“I’m not your charge, and I don’t want to play a fucking game.  Move along.” She managed to lend an officious clip to the last two words, hoping he’d think she meant it.

Ignis was unsure how to talk to her when she was like this, prickly from all sides, but he felt strongly that he didn’t want to leave her alone.  He didn’t overthink that. “There’s - there’s been a lot of bad news lately. The world is upside down. It makes sense that -”

“Seriously, fuck off.”  She’d managed to be angry most of the night, but now he was being _nice,_  and it tested her control. Solitary she could do, had learned to do. But someone else reaching out made her feel more vulnerable somehow, and she attempted to slam that door shut. She realized that due to her current state, she'd probably allowed all those thoughts to march across her face just now, and she let out an exasperated sigh.

He was quiet, just looking at her.  He didn’t respond, but he also didn’t move away from her.

“You’re a resilient little bastard, I’ll give you that.  Look, I take care of myself. Alone. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

“About what?” he asked, almost reflexively, stunned a bit into repeating her words.

“Being alone.”  She whirled around, unsteadily, to face him.  Her eyes narrowed. “You have no fucking clue.  So used to having people around you, thinking you’re important . . . you wouldn’t have the first clue how to survive as a godsdamned _outcast_.”

“I don’t think - whatever this is - is about me.”

“No, but you’re sure the fuck trying to make it about you, aren’t you?”

“Not really.” He remained calm and quiet, and that was more infuriating than if he'd yelled back at her.   She crunched angrily across the gravel of the parking lot, and damn him, he followed, hands in his pockets.

“I am _fine_.”  She reached the door to her room, and she couldn’t make the accursed fucking key work.  She stared at it and moved to try again, when a gloved hand gently moved over the top of hers, slid the key in, and unlocked the door.  She pulled the key out and grunted her thanks. A few steps inside the door, she sat somewhat ungracefully onto the motel bed, looking longingly at the pillow.  The flash of misplaced anger and hurt she’d shot at Ignis had flared and dwindled, and now she was just bone tired.

He made a move forward, thought better of it, and stayed where he was. “Good night, Aranea.”

She mumbled something into the pillow, having flopped during his moment of indecision.

“I didn’t catch that.”

She turned her head slightly.  “Bishop to d7.”

The corner of his mouth turned up almost imperceptibly as he closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't try to solve your problems by drinking; it doesn't work.


	5. Positioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea catches Ignis on the back foot, and they both reveal a little vulnerability.

Aranea woke, earlier than she would have liked. She never slept well after drinking too much, and it appeared today was no exception. She groaned and shuffled toward the shower. _Too old for this shit._ She was grateful for the dilapidated coffee maker and mug in her room, and started to feel more human as the aroma filled the air.

She was padding down the hall in search of breakfast when she noticed one of the other room doors was partly open. The sun was streaming through the dusty window and onto the worn wooden floor planks, and she heard faint music. She meant to move on, but stopped when she heard Ignis’ unmistakable accent.

“Drat.”

She peeked around the door, and the scene was equal parts poignant and funny. Ignis was dancing, by himself, but with his arms outstretched like there was someone else there. She watched him appreciatively, all long lines and easy grace.  He seemed to have a handle on what he was doing, but screwed up his face and shook his head again. She intentionally creaked a floorboard and he started, and flushed.

Ignis realized he looked like a fool, dancing by himself in the early hours of the morning. Knowing it was silly, he also disliked the fact that he hadn't yet arranged his hair into its usual style. It fell sloppily across his forehead.  He'd wanted to get up early and deal with this particular issue before the day's routine swept him up in it.

“Hey.”  She bumped her shoulder against the doorway, crossing one foot over the other and sipping her coffee. “What are you doing?”  He noticed that she also hadn't yet pulled up her hair into its usual intricate ponytail. He wondered why he was so worried about hair all of a sudden, and why he was so easily able to call her style to mind. He cleared his throat.

“Simply - Part of my duty is to assist Noctis in navigating state affairs. That can include certain - cultural activities.”  He made no mention of the previous night’s exchange, and for that she was grateful.

She nodded. “Like dancing an Accordan passero?”

He was surprised she'd recognized it, and frustrated that his carelessness had given away such an important detail.  He nodded, brusquely.

“Not to be that guy, but you're missing a step.”  She pointed at his back foot, waving one finger.

He gave her a puzzled look, and she set her mug down on the small side table and motioned him toward her. “Easier to show you. There's a little stutter step on the third beat, just a little more than a weight change.  That's what you're missing.”

She fitted them together in the proper posture and waited for the right moment in the music. When it came, she looked up at Ignis, gave a slight nod, and bounced into the beat with an accentuated first step.

“You're not supposed to lead, you know.”  The Accordan radio station was a bit scratchy, but continued its tinny tones from the radio.

“You're supposed to teach Noctis to lead, right? Seems like I'm showing you the right part.”  She braced her arms against him and his eyes flicked to the shoulder and bicep muscles that stood out. She grinned, then looked at his foot sternly, emphasizing the third beat.  He responded in turn and nodded, noting the extra step and working it into the pattern.

“I must ask, how on Eos would you have learned this?”  He tried not to notice the clean, soapy smell of her skin or the way her waist felt under his hand as she turned her hips.

“You want the cute answer or the true answer?”  She was keenly aware of the precise distance between her chest and hips and his, the air between them as they moved, and all the points at which they connected.

“Truth, please.”

“Survival.”  She said the word carefully, not lightly, not heavily. Ignis’ eyes fell on an old scar peeking out from the top of her shirt, between her breasts. It disappeared under her clothes - no way to tell how far it went, or the full shape of it.

He stared down at the scar on her chest. He was almost overwhelmed with the desire to touch his finger to it, to ask her about it, to learn how and why, and -

Her face suddenly broke his line of sight. “It's not polite to stare.”  Her voice was low, and then she was kissing him. A gentle press, her lower lip tucking under his just a bit, and then she pulled back away, out of his arms. They both tasted of mint and coffee.

He darted forward and kissed her back, harder, both of his hands cupping her chin. His lips were softer than she expected, and he pressed them to hers roughly, almost desperately.  She slowly walked back toward him as she deepened the kiss. The smell of his freshly-shaved cheek sent a rush through her chest, and her lips parted. His hands slid back into her hair, gently, and he shuddered when their tongues touched, lightly at first and then more insistent.  He wanted to stay in this moment, grazing her soft skin with bare fingertips, feeling her pulse at her neck, without stopping to think. She twined her fingers around the back of his neck and felt his hands slide down her back, pulling her closer to him as the kiss grew more heated.

They broke apart suddenly, breathing quickly. They looked at each other warily.  Stunned, he searched for words.

“What was the cute answer?”

Despite the polished line, her voice was rough. “I'm a girl of many talents, Specs.”

She broke eye contact, snatched her coffee and left, leaving him with the taste of her on his lips.

Quietly, Ignis mused, “Indeed.”  He stood with his hand to his mouth and stared after her for a long moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs are [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jG1JY0rt2Os) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jG1JY0rt2Os).


	6. En Passant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the span of four mornings and three nights, additional moves are made.

_"Commodore Highwind," she'd hear._

That was my father, _she’d think. Every time._

_"Call me Aranea," or "I'm not big on formality," or "No need for the titles," she'd say._

“You know, after my mom was killed they wanted my dad to pull out of the service.”  She sat down next to Ignis without warning.

He looked up and blinked.  The disclosure had come from nowhere, and he was unsure how to take it. He nodded, slowly, for her to continue, sipping his coffee.  The morning light was still dim, and he noticed dust on the windowsill.

“I was thirteen. We talked about it.  I knew if they stuck him at a desk somewhere, he'd never get back into the sky.”  She leaned back in the booth.

Ignis found his voice somewhere. “Was he also a -”

“Dragoon? Yeah. You should've seen him fly. It was glorious.”  She stared dreamily into space for a moment and then clapped him on the shoulder. “You think I'm good - and I know you do - I'm just hoping I'll be half the flyer he was at forty.”

“Where is he now?”

She waggled her fingers into the air. “Wherever the good people go, I hope.”  She smiled. “Shot down two weeks before my sixteenth birthday.”

Ignis looked straight down at the table in front of him for a long moment, then met her eyes. “Do you ever wish you'd made him stay with you?”

Her eyes were sad, but her voice was defiant.  “Not for a minute.”

He nodded, resolutely.  “Pawn to b4,” he added with a small smile.

She left as suddenly as she’d appeared, leaving Ignis confused.  It was too early for this, and he hadn’t consumed enough Ebony. He stared out the window thoughtfully, resisting the urge to pull out his handkerchief and wipe the windowsill.

* * *

The stars sparkled overhead, and Noctis’ feet swung over the edge of the vaguely circular rock they camped on.  Ignis sat cross-legged next to him.

“D’you see that one, Noct?  That’s one of the first ones I showed you when you were small.”  Ignis propped his arms behind him and leaned back to point at the sky.

“Yeah.”  Noctis’ voice was soft.  “The Guardian.”

They were silent for a moment.  Back then, Ignis had explained to him that the constellation represented parents and other guardians, but was also special to the military, as it represented their duty.  They’d discussed all of the brave men and women who fought for Lucis, and Noctis, though tiny, had been very moved by the weight of it all.

“This has turned out to be one hell of a road trip.”  Noctis breathed deeply. “Thanks, Specs. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”  The two of them settled into the quiet companionship that had comforted them both over the years, as the stars continued their silent glow.

* * *

Gladio’s voice was quiet in the still morning air. “She’s a Nif, Ignis.”

Ignis inclined his head but remained silent. They knew each other well enough at this point that he knew exactly what Gladio was on about, and why he’d brought it up.  It was not a surprise to him that Gladio had figured out at least some of what was going on. To the extent anything even was going on, and to the extent that could be figured out at this point, anyway.

Ignis brought his plate to the center of the campsite and sat, a bit primly.  “That doesn’t appear to be true at this point.”

“Can you really trust someone who switches sides that easily?”

He sighed, and looked toward the tent where Noct slept.  No, he probably couldn’t. But contradictory feelings warred inside of him, and he stubbornly clung to his concept of himself as an excellent judge of character.  Just as stubbornly, he refused to examine why he thought it was so important to trust Aranea.

Prompto strode up the rocks surrounding the camp, camera in hand.  “You guys talking about our Commodore friend?”

“Yeah, not sure she’s a friend, Prompto.”

“And by her word, she’s no longer a Commodore.”  Ignis’ voice was smooth as always.

Prompto scratched his head. “She tell you that?”

Gladio’s voice was skeptical.  “She claims to have switched sides.  Not a big surprise for a mercenary, and probably not something any of us should rely on.”  He looked pointedly at Ignis, who’d busied himself with his breakfast.

Prompto fidgeted with the wrist of his glove.  “Seems like we should take her word, especially when she keeps backing us up in the field, right? Against the imperials? It’s - good to give people a chance to do the right thing.  I mean, it’s not like she has a choice to be from wherever she’s from, right?”

Gladio sighed.  “Hard to know who to trust these days. Seems like it’s easier to keep it close, you know?”

Ignis looked at the tent again.  “We need allies.”

Gladio snorted.  “Right, allies.” He looked at Ignis again, who shifted uncomfortably. “Just try not to make my job harder, alright?”

“Please don't insult me by implying I would.”

* * *

Ignis had left the others back at the campsite, and jogged down the road to the car to retrieve some supplies.  Over the rise, he faintly heard a familiar cry and the ring of a lance, and heard gunshots. He peered up into the sky and saw a dropship in the distance.  He looked back toward the campsite and hesitated. Ignis sighed, shook his head, and took off, running toward the noise.

It was Aranea, and she was surrounded.

“I’m _fine!_ ” She shouted from the middle of a lurching, metallic crowd.

She crouched deep, and his eyes were drawn to the long line of thigh muscles powering her into the air.  She landed in a spray of shattering metal and fraying wires. He met her eyes briefly before diving in.

He was furious, and not just at the MTs. He had decided, he had godsdamned _resolved_ , that he wasn't interested in… whatever was happening with Aranea.  Having to watch her battle, listening to the wild sounds she made and watching the adrenaline rush animate her was bloody unfair. He summoned his daggers with an angry flick.

Ignis parried, and flipped, and the flex of his hips reminded Aranea of the dance they’d shared the other morning.  She grinned as she struck at an enemy, flinging it toward Ignis to finish off. He moved into the gap as she leapt again, launching a powerful magic attack that would dissipate by the time she landed.  

The two of them made relatively short work of the crowd, and were left with a field of hissing circuits and crumpled metal. Aranea pushed her helmet back, hair wet with sweat, and sidled close to Ignis.  She was still riding high on the energy from the battle. “Fancy meeting you here.” She stood in front of him, her eyes shining in the light from his belt. She moved closer, clearly intending a repeat of their previous kiss, and he touched his lips to hers only briefly before moving away.

“What?”  She peered at him, confused.

“It’s - difficult.  I must keep my distance, I fear, given your alliances.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “I’m done, Ignis.  Unless you haven’t noticed that I’ve been scrounging for cash lately.  And keeping daemons off your backs.” She scowled. “I guess whether or not you trust me is up to you.”

He was silent, eyes on the sputtering MTs on the ground.  His eyes darted to the side to brush over her, and Aranea shook her head.

“I’m too much of a straightforward bitch to be any good as a spy.  Trust me, they tried.” She thought, amused for a moment, obviously running through some memory, before glancing back and noticing Ignis’ expression. She sobered.  “Yeah. That probably is something a Nif spy would say.” The corner of her mouth twisted up into a painful smile. “Pawn takes pawn, b3.”

He blinked, adjusting his mind for a moment to the chessboard, and realizing she’d taken his piece by passing behind it.  She leapt, and was gone. Ignis stared up after her, and a pain spread through his chest. He hadn't thought to ask why she'd been in this fight to begin with. The gravel of the road crunching under his feet sounded loud in the dull silence that followed the battle, and he listened to it all the way back to camp.

The next morning, Ignis sat in the darkness, listening to the cacophony of birds that always just preceded the sunrise. He'd been up this early enough times to know that the brief frenzy of activity would calm as the sun came up, and the racket kept him company in the otherwise solitary, cold morning.

He sipped at his coffee, rolling the bitter liquid in his mouth before swallowing, and stood, pacing nowhere in particular. The sky had turned from black to gray, and it was time to begin another day.

* * *

He showed up at her motel room door that night. He'd been drinking a little, but he wasn't drunk.  She answered his knock and tilted her head up at him, question and challenge in her slate-gray eyes.

“What do you want, Ignis?” she asked softly.

“I don't know,” he said brokenly, and crashed his face into hers.  He tasted faintly, sweetly, of gin, and she breathed the juniper scent through her nose. She stepped back, pulling him inside and closing the door.

“I think you do.  Thought you didn't trust me.”

“I don't.” His smirk belied his words, as he walked her backwards.

“Finally seizing the moment instead of torturing yourself into paralysis? I must say I'm surprised.  Aren't I still a threat to the Crown?” She taunted him, her voice low as she pulled on his belt.

“You're a threat to everything and everyone.”

Ignis’ face was buried in her neck, and he missed the quick flash of sadness that changed her expression briefly, before she recovered with a rough laugh. “Glad to see you've assessed the situation correctly.”

* * *

Aranea lay, sated, on her stomach on the bed. Her face was turned toward him on the pillow.  Ignis looked at the two black Lucian skulls that interlocked on her lower right shoulder blade. He traced his fingertip over the inked skulls, and she shivered. He thought he'd figured enough out to know what they meant, but he asked anyway.

“Your mother - was she also a soldier?”

“Yeah, a gunner. Like your little blond friend.”  She smiled sleepily.

Ignis’ gaze traced the curve of her back. He saw another tattoo lower down - a symbol he'd seen before, but had to rack his brain to remember.

“Is that a Galahdian symbol?” He touched it.

“Yes.” Her grudging groan drew the word out.  She turned her face away from him and nestled into the pillow.

He wrinkled his forehead, searching his memory from long-ago lessons.  “Doesn’t that one represent -”

She cut him off. “We’re not talking about that one.”

He replaced a tracing finger with a warm hand at the small of her back.

“Pawn captures pawn, b3.”

“I knew when I took that one that you’d be coming for me.”  She chuckled quietly. “Good one, Ignis.” Her voice was quiet as she drifted to sleep.

When he woke up, she was gone, the key on the dresser the only evidence that she’d been there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> En passant ("in passing") is a pawn capture that occurs only when the captured pawn has advanced two spaces. Instead of moving diagonally to capture the pawn at the space where it currently rests, the capturing pawn captures by moving behind the captured pawn (as if the captured pawn had advanced only one space.)


	7. Chequered Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis woke to his phone at the usual time. He stirred, realized he was in an unfamiliar room, and recalled the previous night with a slow smile. He turned and reached a hand out to find - nothing. He searched the room with his eyes, doubt slowing and pulling at his perception of time. The hazy light streaking through the blinds lent an extra air of unreality to it all. He silenced his phone with a touch and closed his eyes again, falling back onto the pillow. He listened, hopefully, for sounds of activity from the adjacent bathroom, but the room was too neat. He lay, both surprised and unsurprised by the silence.

Ignis woke to his phone at the usual time. He stirred, realized he was in an unfamiliar room, and recalled the previous night with a slow smile. He turned and reached a hand out to find - nothing. He searched the room with his eyes, doubt slowing and pulling at his perception of time. The hazy light streaking through the blinds lent an extra air of unreality to it all. He silenced his phone with a touch and closed his eyes again, falling back onto the pillow. He listened, hopefully, for sounds of activity from the adjacent bathroom, but the room was too neat. He lay, both surprised and unsurprised by the silence.  

If he hadn't been in a strange room alone, he'd almost believe, trite as it was, that last night had been something he'd imagined. He exhaled and looked at the ceiling. At a loss for what the hell else to do, he sat up, slowly, and slumped forward. He swung his feet to the floor, skimming them gently across the worn wood before standing and collecting his clothes.

He found his shirt, flung over the chair where she'd sat him, placing herself in his lap and unbuttoning his shirt, her lip caught between her teeth. She'd peeked up at him with her head tilted down and he'd nearly lost his mind right then. How did someone so fierce and “straightforward” manage to pull off coquettish like that? He pulled the shirt over his arms.

The fabric slid over his skin, and he felt the tingle of what he sternly told himself was simply lingering endorphins, before he did up the buttons and searched for his pants. It was mere sentimentality to think that he could still feel her on his skin. He found his glasses on the nightstand, but his pants remained a mystery. He sighed. This was either the biggest mistake he'd ever made, or, he supposed, a potentially memorable night. Isolated memorable nights really weren't his style, but he admitted to himself that it had been enjoyable. Delightful, even, despite the fact - obvious this morning - that it wouldn't be repeated. He pushed a hand through his hair, slowly, and put on his spectacles.

With any luck, it was still early enough that no one but Gladio would realize he'd never come back from the bar. He'd simply head into the shower first, as usual. And Gladio - well, all he'd need would be an assurance that this had been an anomaly. Which, Ignis’ mouth twisted slightly in an attempt at a wry smile, appeared to be true. _Singular,_ he thought to himself, in every sense of the word.

Turning his head, he saw the reflection of his pants in the full-length mirror. They were a simple puddle on the other side of the bed. He breathed out again, slowly, trying and failing to resist the mental replay that would apparently accompany his efforts to reassemble himself, so he could leave the room without looking half-dressed. The sight of eager, scarlet-tipped fingers spooled out in his mind as he picked up his discarded belt. The briefs - yes, well, those had gone with the pants too, and they remained together. She'd been raw, wild, demanding in response to his unannounced intrusion, and it had floored him to see her stripped bare for him. He heard again her breathy moan as he slid deep inside her, and the memory of the velvety feel of her walls tightening around him suddenly made his cock significantly more difficult to wrestle into his briefs.

He drew his pants on slowly and sat back down, letting the feeling sink into him and trying to define it. Loneliness? Regret? Vulnerability?  None of those quite fit. He resigned himself to returning to the room the four of them shared, locating his socks and shoes with some difficulty, and picking them up.

As he turned back a final time in the doorway to the now empty room, he pinpointed it.

Disappointment.

He turned and left.

* * *

Aranea sat in the back of the truck she’d hitched a ride on, swinging a leg and watching the road blur and fall away beneath her. She didn’t know why she felt like she couldn’t stay, but she couldn’t. The urge to move on was too strong, so she’d followed it. She certainly knew how to strategize, but she also knew when it was important to rely on instinct. Aranea firmly ignored the bare, exposed point of emotion at her core, and the sense that it might be driving her. She picked up a small rock and tossed it into the road, watching it ping and grow further away until it was too small to see.

Not like she wouldn’t have _liked_ to be elsewhere right now. Against her own will, she imagined a lazy morning, drifting in and out of sleep, with pretty words and petted hair, whispers, and perhaps more. Winding arms, trailing fingertips...

Gods. Those six damned fingers. She shifted slightly on the metal truck bed, and tucked up her foot. She’d seen him with daggers, and even with chess pieces he was dextrous, but the _softness_ ...Aranea let out an annoyed sigh. _Time to concentrate on the moment._ She thought about her next hunt, and the one after that, and where she’d be staying tonight. Sternly, she pondered the state of her supplies, and her equipment…

And was immediately derailed by a quick flash of the delicate gasp that had escaped Ignis as his cock had slipped just inside her. He’d looked at her with an awe that was almost reverent, and halted, focusing on her for a burning moment before moving further. She suddenly felt the press of his hips against her, and saw the intensity in his eyes, a startling green without his glasses.

 _Fuck._ She pressed a hand to her forehead. He had really gotten under her skin, which was too bad. Given his complete inability to know what he wanted, or to really follow through on it. She set her jaw. No, she’d made the right choice ditching this morning. She flopped back onto the canvas sacks of grain stacked in the truck bed.   _We all have our duties._ She closed her eyes and let the sun bake her eyelids as she thought about what her duty might be now.

* * *

The flashes invaded at the most inopportune times. During battle? Yes, that one made sense. His body was again full of adrenaline and vigor. He even laughed to himself a little as he flipped backward and felt certain muscles stretch. Aranea was one of the fiercest warriors he'd ever observed, and her residence in his mind did at least make some sense then.

But, driving? Cooking dinner? These were not times to be watching full-color replays of a deep pink blush on porcelain skin, thin rims of grey-green eyes almost swallowed with black, or the supple curve of a leg sliding past his hip. It was time to look ahead, not remember the way her soft skin had tasted and felt beneath his lips, or the way she’d shuddered and twisted under the touch of his tongue. He refocused himself, multiple times.

 _Not. The. Time_ , he thought sternly as the memory of a particularly sharp open-mouthed gasp distracted him from what Prompto was saying. “I apologize, Prompto.”

“It’s okay, Ignis. Let’s get dinner out tonight, okay?”

He looked at Prompto gratefully. Prompto gave him a crooked grin and slapped him on the back.

As they walked in, the red-haired waitress eyed him from behind the bar.

“Hey, with the glasses. Idris?”

“Ignis.” He walked over, a slight question in the word and in his manner.

“Right. I’m Polly. Got something for you.”  She reached below the bar and pulled out a scrap of paper, handing it to him with a grin. “She said you’d know who it was from.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his head and accepted the small slip, spreading it on the bar to read.

Roughly printed words simply read “Queen - d8.”

 _A full retreat, then._ His gaze remained fixed on the scratched set of words as picked up the paper and walked over to the table that Prompto had claimed. _But why bother leaving the note at all?_ The odd feeling that everything had slowed down overtook him again, and Ignis sank into a chair. The others were talking to him, and he gave them a faint smile.

* * *

The blue light of the haven drifted up through the darkness, and Aranea wandered toward it, tiredly. She’d succeeded in bagging the appropriate trophy, but she was too worn out to truck back to the outpost. First thing in the morning. But for now, it was good to be too weary to think. Physical exertion was a good, clean tired, and despite the fact that she was also ravenous, she quickly rolled out her sleeping bag, shucked off her armor, and climbed in.

Aranea sat back on her elbows, savoring her dinner of dried meat and water like it was a homemade delicacy. She tipped her head back and breathed deep. The stars shimmered through the cloudy haze above, gently mocking her. Despite her weariness, her muscles tingled. Her body felt good today, and it wasn't just the exertion of the hunt or the rest and food she'd been looking forward to.

 _I should get properly laid more often_ , she thought. _No regrets on that front._ She finished her meal and settled in, curling up and closing her eyes.

Ignis’ sharp gaze greeted her the moment she tried to relax. The one that seemed to read her need and vulnerability despite her best efforts to deflect and escape. _Bahamut’s_ _fucking scrotum._ Did this man own the back of her eyelids now?

She sighed, rolling her head back onto the hard stone. It wasn't just his physical beauty, and she knew it. If that was all there was to it, she wouldn't have left that scrap behind - wouldn't have refused to snap that final thread.

Useless to dwell on it. Aranea huffed and turned over. Repeatedly.

It wasn't until she took matters into her own hands, and her soft moan floated up toward the sky, that she was finally able to sleep.

* * *

He stepped into the tent, and both voices stopped abruptly. Ignis noticed the joined hands next to him and smiled softly. He pretended he’d simply ducked in to grab a lantern, and left them to their conversation. He tried not to overhear too much, but his hearing had always been quite good. The slight stutters and heartfelt tones that were only somewhat muffled by the tent wall brought a gentle curve to his lips. He stood up, meeting Noct’s eyes across the campsite.

"It’s about time,” Noctis said fondly.

“Indeed.” Ignis chuckled softly. Though tired, he busied himself with some small tasks for tomorrow, giving them their moments together. A low rumble wove in and out of a higher, more halting tone. Ignis smiled again as he heard them interrupt each other, and then laugh. Following that exchange, things were suspiciously quiet. Once everything was fully prepared, Ignis looked around a bit, swinging his arms in a rare fidget, before striding over to the camp chair that held his jacket.

He sat, turning over the scrap of paper he’d gotten from the waitress. He pulled out his notebook and carefully, precisely, folded a page back and forth along a crease near the binding. He stopped and looked at it for a moment before tearing it out in one smooth motion. Using the tree stump in front of him as a writing surface, he wrote, in precise longhand: “Knight to d3.” He paused, thought, and then wrote one more word, before folding the paper. In a touch of pure sentiment, he wrote her name on the outside, slipping it quickly into the breast pocket of his jacket before it could embarrass him.

* * *

Aranea sighed and rolled up, stretching her arms into the dark of the early morning. Packing up, she headed to the outpost, hauling the sacks of harvested animal parts over her shoulder. She strode into the diner at sunrise, dumping her sacks on the counter and collecting her pay with a sense of pride.

“I’d love some breakfast, now that I’ve got the gil to pay for it.” She smiled at him. She ordered a gigantic meal and was nearly finished devouring it when the man behind the counter paused.

“Miss Highwind?”

“Aranea, yeah.”

“Tall, skinny gentleman left this for you. Said you’d have that fancy helmet.” The man behind the counter gestured to the black dragoon helmet sitting on the stool next to her. He handed her a small piece of folded paper, and she took it, wiping her mouth first.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Aranea saw her name written in flawless script on the outside of the note and laughed quietly to herself. She didn’t know why that simple touch pleased her so much, but between the beautiful handwriting and the fact that it just said “Aranea,” it was perfect. She read his next move and pondered, then saw the next word and bounced her leg a bit as a smirk teased at her lips. She tucked the note into her pack, pulled her helmet down over her hair, and headed out with the horizon in view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A Chequered retreat . . . is so called from the several component parts of a pre-mechanised line or battalion, which alternately retreat and face about in the presence of an enemy, exhibiting the figure of the chequered squares upon a chess board."


	8. Back-Rank Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missed connections, or something more sinister?

Ignis rested his hands lightly on the steering wheel, tapping his fingers and watching the flat-topped rock formations pass by outside the car. The stones baked in the sunlight; it was certainly hotter here than it had been in the Alstor Slough, where they’d been collecting hunts. He pondered several practicalities: the benefit they’d all get from a night of rest; the supplies they needed to pick up that were plentiful here; the handy gas station right outside town, and the dwindling gas gauge. The road curved into a cool tunnel of intricate brick, then burst forth into the relentless sunlight he remembered. Ignis vaguely thought he ought to shed his jacket before they went walking around.

He was preoccupied, however, by pondering the note he’d left for Aranea. And by the thought of her in general, if he was honest with himself. It was new, to have collided with someone so complete and separate without him - someone who willingly crashed into his life, almost literally. He smiled, thinking of the unpredictable visits she paid them late at night battling daemons on the road, and struggled not to think of other, unpredictable late-night visits. He lingered on the thought that Aranea had approached him not out of need or role or obligation, but simply because he pleased her. She didn’t rely on him; she didn’t need him; she wanted him, and that was new.

He knew, on one level, that it was foolish to have reached out again after Aranea had made it clear where she stood. But _was_ it entirely clear, given that she’d left that note? He shrugged, and sighed, and parked the car. He tried not to look in the direction of the market.

* * *

Aranea had taken off eagerly from the Coernix station, striding through the tall grass, after reading the note. The chess move written on it had been relatively expected, and she processed it along with the rest, mentally planning her own next move. Written below in a precise hand was the single word “ _Leidenfruit_.”  It was that round, juicy fruit he’d teased her with at the market in Lestallum a few weeks ago. She smiled at the memory and realized it was probably an invitation. Leave it to Ignis to conceal their movements even with this simple hint.

It was brave and impulsive for him to reach out like that after she’d essentially, well, ditched him.  She didn’t feel great about it, but it was what it was. She admired him for trying again, and cursed her heart just a little for speeding up at the thought of another meeting.

Something rankled, though. She’d saved the asses of those four several times on the road, but was Ignis really expecting her to chase after him? She chewed a fingernail and scowled. Damn him. She packed up her supplies and headed out to hitchhike. _Astrals, not the back of another truck. Is it the armor?_ Aranea laughed, shook her head, and climbed in.

To her surprise, she fell asleep, and the bright flash coming out of the tunnel woke her, along with the slowing speed of the truck. She hopped out and waved at the driver.  Lestallum was just as hot and full of the plucked sounds of guitar strings and smells of spiced food as it had been the first day she’d run into Ignis there. This time, instead of a sedate morning market, the nightlife had begun to rouse. Aranea enjoyed the loud music coming from a bar as she walked, and flipped a gil into a busker’s guitar case as she passed.

Her boots made hollow sounds on the stones as she strode toward the market. She could already see stalls with bulging sacks of grain, dried beans, and spices, in tones of russet and saffron and crimson. The proprietors were relaxing and chatting among themselves as they prepared to close up for the day. As keyed up as she was, Aranea felt like she hardly fit in with the casual, slow pace here.

What she wanted to do was lay into Ignis; scold him for sending her chasing after them.

She was ready, too, scalding words at her lips and a sassy, pissed-off tilt to her head. Aranea was so focused on playing the conversation out inside her head, she was unusually unguarded. Rounding a corner in one of the narrow pathways between buildings, she nearly tripped over a booted foot. She stumbled and whirled to see Ignis himself, leaning up against a doorway, one foot crossed over the other, arms draped across the door frame.

“Aranea.”

“Ignis.” She was startled, and surprised, but he didn’t move. He just stayed in his slouch, though his eyes examined her. Quite closely. She fought the urge to squirm.

“Been following us, have you? Following _me_?” His voice was honeyed, almost overly sweet, slow, and deep.

“It was - your note.” In her confusion, the words tripped out a little awkwardly, as she had over his foot. Aranea forced herself to gather her bearings. A silver glint caught her eye out of a third-floor window, though she wasn’t sure why that particular detail distracted her just now.

Ignis answered smoothly. “Yes, of course.” Aranea tilted her head and examined him, but he just tipped his chin down and looked at her with a challenge in the green gaze behind his glasses. Ignis pushed himself out of the doorway and strode toward her with a rolling gait. He stepped close to her and gripped her upper arm, hard. “Well, looks like you found me.” He drew out the first word into a drawl.

She looked at his fingers, then at his face. Her eyes narrowed, and Ignis let out a small, mocking laugh. “I should have known I couldn’t fool you for too long. I did hire the best, after all.” His gaze turned up to the same window that had distracted Aranea earlier. Her own eyes followed, too late to react before the dart found her neck.

One of the first things she’d learned in military school was how to look for sniper lines. The years-old memory returned as she reached for the dart to pull it free, her vision already blurring around the edges. She stumbled sideways, trying to rip free of Ignis’ arm, but his grip tightened, hard enough to bruise. He didn’t speak again, and Aranea’s perception faded to angry sage-green eyes and the rattle of metal.

* * *

Ignis looked out over the city as the rose-pink light of sunrise moved into the hot, direct sun of full day.

“You’re quiet.” Gladio’s low rumble eased Ignis from his reverie. “Ready to go?” He zipped and shouldered a duffel bag large enough to hold Prompto, probably, though they’d never tried.

Ignis couldn’t help but sigh. “I suppose so.” They’d lingered as long as he could reasonably justify, and it was time to snap the thread on the disappointment that had been dangling over his head. Time to deal with it, and move on. He managed a smile, and patted Noct’s back as the other three filed out of the hotel room.

“Pack up the Regalia without me, will you please? I need to take care of something here.”

“No problem, Iggy. Settle up with the front desk on your way out, okay?”

Ignis nodded slowly. He watched the three of them walk out and down the hall, and closed the door softly after them. He sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, head bent down. It had been a long time since he’d felt so truly foolish.

A sigh escaped as he forced himself up and to action. He dragged the black case out from under the bed and, unable to avoid worrying at the sore spot, flipped the case open. He’d restrung it and cleaned the years of cigarette smoke and grime off the fretboard, revealing a lovely rosewood pattern. He’d oiled and tightened the tuning knobs, grateful that none of them had needed to be replaced - it had been hard enough to find new strings.

Not like it mattered now.  He supposed he’d have to find something else to occupy him in the early morning hours. Still steeped in embarrassment and disappointment, he closed and flipped the latches closed with sharp clicks, picked up the case, and walked down the hall.  

The kind concierge was the unfortunate beneficiary of the extraneous item. “Can you - would you get this into the hands of someone who would want it? I realize it’s an odd request.”

The concierge nodded. “I’m sure one of our street musicians could find some kind of use for it. It looks really well cared for, though, are you sure you want to just part with it?”

Ignis just blushed and signed the bill for the room, pushing it back across the counter with the appropriate amount of gil. Overtaken by an immature wish that he’d been mistaken again, he blurted out a brief description of its intended recipient, should she make her way to the hotel, and strode quickly out the door.

After Ignis started the car he looked back, once, before putting his hands back on the wheel and pulling away.

* * *

The cold smell of metal, and then the odd mid-gut sensation of being in a vehicle that was increasing in speed. Aranea knew she was on an airship before her vision had fully returned. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing even, listening. Metal armor clanked, but she heard no voices, and tried to peek through her eyelashes, preferring to take any advantage she could scrape together.

Unfortunately, her captor was too perceptive to give her more than a moment. A boot leisurely rolled her over.

“Commodore.”

Yeah, she’d been right. _Dammit._


	9. Tactical, Positional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea relies on instincts and training to navigate a tactical matter, while Ignis negotiates a longer-term positional issue.

The inside of the airship reverberated with the heavy clank of metal boots. MTs crossed paths, changing positions with matching, jerking steps. Aranea pulled herself up with some difficulty, noticing that her hands were bound together at the wrists. As she righted herself, she felt her head throb and scowled up at the face staring down at her. He’d clearly been none too gentle loading her in.

The formal ruff at his throat framed the persistent stubble roaming over his face, and Aranea squirmed in irritation. He looked down at her with obvious enjoyment, tossing wine-colored strands out of his face, and Aranea scrambled up to her feet awkwardly, leaning back against the cold wall behind her and sliding up. Sadly, there was no catch on any of the support beams to worry at her restraints, but she continued to think, eyes narrowed and teeth grinding. Her legs weren’t bound, and that was something.

“Came after me yourself? That can’t be a good use of resources.” Aranea shot clipped tones toward the Chancellor as her own eyes darted around the ship, well-staffed by MT units, but no humans that she could see. _Useful._ “Aren’t you far too valuable for that?” She sneered, shifting her weight the best she could with her hands restrained behind her. She gripped one sweaty fist behind her back, where she hoped her small knife was still strapped.

“You’ve been _evading_ all of the ships we sent after you, my dear. I assumed you needed a personal invitation to resume your duties.” Ardyn’s tone was sweet, but his sharp gaze followed Aranea’s hand moving behind her back. 

“Thinking of summoning that beautiful spear, are you? Ponder for a moment.” Ardyn bent down closer to her, striding forward, and a catlike gaze burned down at her. Six, but he was annoyingly tall. “Who else can summon weapons?”

Aranea looked at him quizzically, hoping to distract him from what she was doing. She twisted her wrists minutely - the knife was still there, but she couldn’t get to it. She’d need to be left alone for a moment, and that didn’t appear to be happening anytime soon.

“That’s right - just the little prince and his cohorts.” He advanced another step, and Aranea’s eyebrows drew together. “So, you see - it would take someone with that same type of power to allow you to summon a weapon in that way.” Her jaw clenched.

Ardyn’s eyes snapped, glowing red for just a brief moment. With a theatrical wave of his arm, Ardyn mused. “Amazing how the word ‘magitek’ can be used to distract you from basically anything.”

Aranea waited while he was pontificating, and sent her gaze bouncing off the walls and corners that surrounded them. She returned her gaze as Izunia continued talking.

“So you see, my lovely dragoon, I’ve always known exactly where you were. I was quite excited when you made the acquaintance of Noctis and his... associates.” He drew out the last word as if it were lewd, and Aranea felt herself flush against her will. “If you were wondering why I allowed you to leave, it was that. Simply easier for you to lead me to them than to find them myself.”

Aranea breathed out, trying to digest the words through a throbbing skull. The next intake of air revealed a few sore ribs as well. She pictured clunky MTs flinging her into the hold as if she were a sack of potatoes, and the various aches and bruises she felt seemed consistent with that. Adrenaline dulled the smarting though, as her eyes darted sideways again.

“Where are we going?” The words hissed out through her teeth.

“Niflheim, of course.” Ardyn gestured broadly, hand flipping up at the wrist on the last word. “I thought you might want to speak with Aldercapt personally. You know, to explain your behavior.” His eyebrows lifted in mock concern. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you find yourself on the other end of a court-martial, my dear.”

Aranea couldn’t help a twisted grin at that. _Wouldn’t be the first time, jackass,_ she thought.

She watched closely as the Pilot Model MT navigated the airship between rock formations. Judging by experience, they’d need to descend significantly in a few minutes, flying low before ascending again for a few hours - if this was the usual route back to Nif HQ. She noted that information and filed it away. She waited while Izunia swept dramatically from the room, returning to his comfortable seat below deck - one she’d sat in several times herself - and avoided rolling her eyes until his back was turned.

She flipped the knife out of its sheath with two fingers, leaning casually against the wall and scanning the Pawn Model MTs guarding the entrance and exit carefully. A few quick saws, and it was done. She waited while the craft made its swift descent, feeling the pressure burst and pop in her ears.

 _Shit._ The Chancellor came swanning back into the room, just as she was ready to make her move. No matter. Time to act, now. Consequences be damned.

Aranea darted forward and pressed the button that would open the hatch, flinging an elbow into the face of the Pilot MT that attempted to stop her. As the maw of the ship opened, she skipped back, seething with defiance and darting glances over her shoulder. Ardyn strolled forward toward her, his posture unconcerned, but his gaze stern.

“This was my father’s spear, you asshole.” Aranea’s hand swept behind her in a flash of red, and the Stoss spear emerged.

“And how much do you trust that, my dear? If you’re incorrect, well….” Topaz eyes widened. He looked at her with challenge, threat, and a not insignificant amount of interest. “I’d hate to see what would happen if that just _disappeared_ in midair. Not as much as you’d hate it, I’m afraid.”

Aranea set her jaw and jumped.

* * *

Ignis switched arms, hauling the bag of groceries toward the haven. Gladio had dropped him off while the other three finished a small hunt, and he was looking forward to the methodical chopping and stirring involved in the long-cooking stew he was set to prepare. A repetitive task, something to focus on other than the chaotic events of the last few weeks. The blue light wafted upward, and he relaxed at the welcome, thinking of Lunafreya and the Oracle’s magic, and the cause for which all of them persisted and fought.

An unusual sound also floated upward, though. Music? Here? It was an unexpected but not unwelcome sound. He approached slowly, thinking of discussing sharing the haven for the night with the unknown traveler, or perhaps having to move on if it was an entire group. Still, the tune was pleasing, and he smiled a little at the slightly halting but lovely tones that greeted him.

His steps slowed when he saw who it was. The pink of the setting sun reflected off slivery hair, and one booted foot swung over the edge of the rock outcropping. The other leg was crossed over, and Aranea’s hands wrapped around an old, but polished, guitar.

The strains of a plucked tune wavered out from the hollow body of the instrument. Despite its scrap-heap status, it had a lovely resonance, and Ignis mused that the owner of the pawn shop that had sold him on it hadn’t been bluffing quite as much as Ignis had thought. The song was quick and lively, with an interesting counterpoint between the low notes and the high ones, but a faint sadness to it as well. 

He quieted his steps and set the bag down with a papery rustle. “That’s beautiful.” He knew that she’d detected his presence.

Aranea finished the second loop of the melody, and swept unbound hair behind her shoulder. “Thanks, Specs.” Her eyes pulled up toward his, and they were wide with intensity and something he didn’t quite recognize in her but thought might be vulnerability. The light caught again on the strands of hair framing her face and brushing against the pointed chin beneath.

Ignis moved forward gracefully and arranged his limbs on the ledge next to her. “I hadn’t imagined you could play like that.”

Aranea let out a light laugh and shrugged, clearly self-conscious and proud. “It’s a beginner piece, honestly. I’m rusty.”

She laid the guitar down on the stone next to her carefully, giving it a look of appreciation and tracing a finger along the freshly sanded surface of the fretboard. “This was - no one’s done anything like this for me in a long time. I know how much work this probably was. I - thank you, Ignis.” Her gaze turned to him again, and it was exposed in a way he’d never seen before, even during that night they’d spent together in her hotel room.

Ignis’ posture stiffened minutely. “It’s been quite some time. I assumed -”

Aranea smiled and ducked her head. “Yeah. I know.” She swung a foot idly, kicking at the stone, before continuing. 

I’m not good at this.” She turned her face back to his and tipped her head in a small shrug. “You know?”

Ignis felt a rueful smile grow despite himself. He realized this was as close to an apology as he was likely to get. He looked down at her hand resting on the flat rock of the haven, at the strong lines curving into her arm. He ran his fingers over it briefly before covering it with his own, sending a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye and meeting hers.

Ignis reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Aranea’s ear, and when she turned her head questioningly, he kissed her. Soft, and sweet, and longing. He felt an exhale of relief gust past her lips into his mouth, and she turned her body toward him, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him in. Aranea spread strong fingers across his jaw and he felt fresh calluses at her fingertips and old ones across her palm.

Ignis swept parted fingers through the hair at the other side of Aranea’s face, and she flinched a little. In the fading light, he saw yellowish-brown bruises marring the porcelain skin there, and his brows pulled together in concern, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

She leaned forward, and Ignis felt the soft strands of her bangs tickle his forehead. “It’s been a busy couple weeks. Let’s just say I figured out what matters.” She captured his lips again, stronger, deeper than before.

Aranea’s tongue swept into Ignis’ mouth with an urgency that surprised him. The desire that he thought he’d put behind him in the last few weeks surged, and he met her with a small groan, pulling her close to him. When she wrenched herself away, he saw the look she gave him, all fire and demand.

“Didn’t you figure out that I’d be back?” Her breath danced warm across his lips before she scooted back closer to the glowing blue runes at the center of the haven, that tilted gaze daring him to chase her. “I can’t let you win by default. Knight to e6.” Her eyes glittered beneath fierce slashes of eyebrow, and the corners of her lips curled up at him.

He crept forward to meet her. “You did make a bit of a retreat, didn’t you? Knight, b4.” Ignis’ words gusted out between their lips, as they met and parted and met again, each touch stronger and more lingering than the last.

She laughed, and Ignis felt her hands tangle into his hair again. His eyes closed as Aranea pulled him back over her, and his hand set down on the stone floor of the haven, cool through the fabric of his glove. Ignis looked down at pale skin dimly lit, at the hollow of Aranea’s throat framed by muscle and tendon and the curve of her collarbone, and he shivered. “I was hoping it was a bit more than a chess game that brought you back.”

Long lashes flcked up, and her eyes caught the light, a blue cast to their usual green-grey. “It’s all part of the package, I guess.”

Ignis realized that Aranea was unbuttoning his shirt when she stopped, making him look down at her fingers, stilled and tips overlapping as she thought. “What about your friends?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t they with you, or close behind?”

He just looked at her.

“Field instincts, sorry.”

“Don’t you ever turn that off?” Ignis muttered.

“You’re one to talk. And I wouldn’t be here now if I did.” She laughed and poked him in the chest.

Ignis squirmed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, rolling over briefly to text Gladio. _Please stay at the caravan tonight. All of you._

Gladio texted back immediately. _Is this what I think it is? And what about the stew?_

_It’ll keep. And yes, probably._

Ignis rolled his eyes as Gladio’s final reply came through. _Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do._

_Unlikely._

Ignis tossed his phone aside and returned to Aranea’s attention, propping himself up on one elbow next to her. Gloved fingertips traced over the swell of her chest, and Ignis watched it rise and fall faster in response. He watched the pink curves of her lips separate, and took off a glove to run a fingertip lightly over their smooth surface, feeling the tingle of barely touching skin. Aranea huffed out a breath and gave him a dark look in response.

Ignis watched pale blue shine through silver strands, and then she pulled him over her again, pressing against him and reaching up to kiss him. Even through her shirt, he felt the softness of her breasts against him, and he closed his eyes and lost himself.

Ignis felt the grip of Aranea’s hand on his arm as her tongue moved against his. Slow, it was all slow and deliberate, and he felt a breath shudder out of her that sent a tingle spiraling down his spine. He opened his eyes, and with a devious grin, ground his hips slightly downward.

She gasped a little into his mouth and shoved against him in response, and he moved smoothly to her neck, enjoying the moan that he felt vibrate under his lips. Strong hands gripped his hips, pulling him closer, and he felt the heat of her as she moved against him. He bent his head to her lips again, and she met him with equal force.

Aranea’s knee slid up, her foot curling behind him, and she continued to kiss him, pressing her body up against his. He rolled his hips into hers harder and she bit her lip and made a sound that was suspiciously close to a whimper. He looked at her steadily again and slipped a hand under her shirt and bra, bare fingertips smoothing across the impossibly soft skin of her breast to seek out a nipple. He found it already hard and straining, and stroked with the pad of his finger. A small but deliciously needy sound slipped past those gorgeous lips as Aranea flung her head to the side. Her hips ground against him faster and sloppier, and she made breathy little sounds that made him throb against her, rutting against his increasingly tight confines. Ignis wondered if he could make her come like this, but she had already snaked a hand between them to grip the hard outline under his jeans, making him grunt in surprise.

She was breathless. “I need -"

Ignis just nodded, his urgency as strong as hers. He wrestled with button and zipper just enough to free himself, and gasped when fingers wrapped around him unexpectedly. She’d been faster and more nimble than he was, and guided him into her insistently. Ignis closed his eyes for a long moment, a quiet, drawn-out sound escaping him as he felt her hot slickness pulse around him.

Neither of them took long to find release; Aranea’s cry as Ignis drove into her bounced off the nearby cliffs and rang in his ears. It wasn’t sophisticated, or elegant, or clever; it was needy, and sweaty, and desperate. The games and the banter had fallen away, revealing the passion underneath.

Ignis pulled Aranea up close to him as he thrust faster, and her head tipped back. Lips murmured and gasps whispered against damp skin; breaths stuttered and desperate hands clutched and flexed. Ignis’ eyes squeezed tightly closed as Aranea came around him; her voice raised again in a beautiful shout and the curve of her body, wrapped in his arms, tensed and quivered. He was powerless, and felt his own climax burst forward, tensing his own body over hers. The feel of it stole his breath. He gulped air; landed a soft kiss on a glistening chest; stroked hair from her forehead. 

Their eyes met, and Aranea’s were round and startled. She took a deep breath that was partly another gasp, and suddenly tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. Aranea threw her arm across her face in embarrassment. Ignis laid soft fingers on her elbow and peeked up under it, playful yet gentle, trying not to display his worry that she’d take flight again, after he’d just gotten her grounded, at least temporarily.

In lieu of words, he simply kissed the tears from her cheeks after sliding slowly out of her. He lay down beside her and ran a light hand up and down her skin as she calmed, providing comfort and admiring the glow of alabaster under the moon. The soft swell of breasts dipped toward a taut, firm stomach, curving out into graceful hips - one of which Ignis laid his head on gently, looking up to watch her expression. He traced the lines of her body under her shirt, feeling emotion ripple unevenly through her. Scars, large and small, interrupted the soft, pale surface that his fingers skimmed reverently, as her rasping breaths slowed. He stopped at each one, thinking of the ferocity and fortitude that drove her forward, always. She sighed contentedly finally, and the sound floated over him like the wash of a simple healing spell. As she settled, he ventured to ask.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” A genuine smile then, as she tucked an arm behind her head and reached down to twist her fingers through falling strands of his hair with the other. She looked at him like he was familiar, like someone she’d bothered to understand, and Ignis gave her a knowing smile in return.

They made do with Aranea’s small pack, unzipping her sleeping bag to spread it out and lay over them, wriggling back into clothes that had only been partially moved aside in their fervor. Aranea stretched lazily and twined her limbs into Ignis’ to settle down for sleep. The easy intimacy made his heart thump, and he waited for a few moments for it to calm.

“Tomorrow.” Ignis said skyward, thoughtful but resolved.

“Dangerous concept these days,” Aranea teased, pillowing silky hair on his shoulder. “What about it?”

Ignis kept talking toward the stars, gazing up at the shimmering groups above them. The Guardian was nearly dipping below the horizon, and the Fool and the Lovers were visible, along with the Crown further off to the west. His lips quirked at the aptness, and he spoke quietly. “We're going to Lestallum tomorrow. Please come with us.” He lifted his head to look at her. “With me.”

He watched her face, but she just took a breath, and said, “Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I told you I’m not good at this but - I’m trying.” She paused. “Look, I think the only way this won’t work is if you make the assumption that it’s going to be normal. In any respect, really.”

Ignis wavered, laying his head back down. “This probably isn’t the best time to start -”

Aranea slid a hand across his chest. “It's never the perfect time. And you can spare me the pretty speeches about how your duty comes first. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m hardly the kind of person who’ll be coming home to you every night either. Hasn’t it occurred to you that -” She stopped and flushed.

Ignis took a moment to process the idea that Aranea might want to come home to him at all, and admitted to himself that he liked it very much.

He kissed her forehead lightly. “It has.”

They were quiet for a long time, the only sound the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. Ignis breathed in the scent of Aranea’s hair as he drifted to sleep, and he looked forward to waking beside her once the starlight faded and the sun returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tactical chess involves short-term attacks requiring exact calculation, while positional chess is play dominated by long-term maneuvering, relying on judgment more than calculation.
> 
> The song Aranea is playing is [here](https://youtu.be/QIW0BrrA5LE).


	10. Brilliancy (Sacrifice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three more mornings and two more nights, and the game concludes.

Streaks of sunlight had just started to light the sky when Ignis woke. Despite having slept on the stone floor of the haven, he was warm - in no small part, likely, due to the solid, muscled body pressed to his side.

She'd curved into him as she slept, and he turned from his back to curl in close around her. She sighed happily as she felt him grasp her hip, and he exhaled. Her hand reached back to touch him too, and she stretched a little, making small protestations against being awake.

Ignis scrubbed at his face and sat up, taking a look at his phone and chuckling quietly at the couple of messages there. His friends had attempted, poorly, to contain their curiosity and well-wishes. He could almost hear them laughing through the words they sent, and he shook his head. Rather than trying to cram Aranea and her pack into an already-full Regalia, Ignis advised the three of them to go on ahead, and planned to walk into town to find a fellow traveler going their way.

Aranea roused fully, sitting up and stretching. “Lestallum bound, hey?” She poked at his hair and smiled. “Maybe a quick stop in town first? I know I’m a mess. Too.” She laughed, but her grin faded at the somber expression on Ignis’ face.

He turned to Aranea, his back straight, and took both her hands in his. “At this point, I think it’s very important that you know some critical information about me. It’s essential that I tell you this.”

Her eyes rounded, and she nodded solemnly. “Go on.”

Ignis’ tone was grave, and he met her eyes steadily. “I do not. Under any circumstances. Start the day without coffee.”

Aranea yanked her hands back and swatted him playfully. “You’re ridiculous, do you know that?” She looked down, and her smile belied her pretended aggravation. “If you’re making it, I’ll take some. That canned stuff though, you’re on your own.”

He rolled to his feet, rummaging through his pack. “I would never stoop to allowing a companion to go uncaffeinated. This won’t take but a moment.”

Aranea lay back, relaxing on an elbow and watching him bustle about. “I don’t need it to function the way you do, babe, but I appreciate it.” Her cheeks flushed prettily when she realized the pet name had slipped out, but Ignis let the corners of his mouth curl just a little; he hadn’t minded.

They shared a pot of dark roast at the haven - if Aranea’s one cup could be called sharing - packed up, and walked the few minutes to the outpost.  Fortunately, there were some decent facilities for them to get cleaned up, and they both relished the opportunity for clean clothes and a shower.

Aranea was walking back down the hall, scrubbing her hair dry with a towel, and Ignis was reminded of the first time he’d seen her like this - that unexpected early-morning dance they’d shared. He touched her shoulder to stop her from bustling past him, lips curving gently as she stepped into him and fit her mouth to his. He bent down, their eyes closed, and Ignis thought to himself that it was appropriate that she liked to fly so high, given the distance she often created between herself and others. It made these moments of contact sweeter, he thought. She deepened the kiss, swirling her tongue around his and pulling away with a nip to Ignis’ lower lip that made a small noise rise in the back of his throat. He wished, in the same moment, that they'd bought the use of one of the motel’s rooms as well as the shower facilities.

But they hadn't, and they needed to move on, despite the fact that he was now picturing water droplets rolling down Aranea’s porcelain neck, over and between the curves of her breasts, lingering just for a moment on pink nipples before falling past firm thighs in a sparkling bead to splash at her feet. Ignis swallowed. They needed to go, _now_ , before he dragged her back into the shower to complete the thought.   

Trying to collect himself, Ignis blinked and looked down at what Aranea was wearing, a soft, short-sleeved black t-shirt and jeans. He smiled appreciatively. “That looks lovely on you.”

“You care about clothes, huh?” She cocked her head in an attitude that made it clear that she didn’t.

“I’m wounded. Has that not been obvious?” He looked down at his clean shirt, as close to wrinkle-free as the shower’s steam had been able to make it, and the suspenders which, if he was honest, were just as much a statement as a necessity.

Aranea laughed. “I suppose it has.” Her eyes followed the path of Ignis’ gaze, and she slid a finger under one of the suspenders, pulling him in until his lips met hers again.

* * *

They traveled a few stops down the road before their courier politely notified them he was going another way. Fifteen minutes from a haven, and probably one more ride away from their destination. Not bad really, Ignis thought to himself, starting a simple dinner as Aranea crashed around looking for firewood.

She returned with a triumphant armful and stopped to breathe deeply.  “That smells amazing.”

Ignis dipped his head, accepting the compliment. “Thank you. Do you happen to have a match?”

“Yeah.” Aranea looked down self-consciously, for reasons Ignis didn’t immediately realize. She crouched to arrange the logs and reached into her jacket. As she pulled the matchbook open and struck the flame, Ignis recognized the logo stamped on the front - a green dragon whose body wound around and perched atop the hilt of a dagger.  

“That’s that pub in Cauthess ...“ He didn’t finish, just looking at her, the hint of a smile teasing around his lips. He watched her toss the match in, feeling warmth grow in his chest as the small spark caught at the wood.

Her fingers curled slowly back around the matchbook, and she deposited it back in the inside pocket of her jacket. “Yeah, it is.” Fern-green eyes glowed in firelight as she met his gaze.

Aranea had been effusive about the simple dinner he’d prepared, leading Ignis to wonder about the state of her meals up to that point.  Currently, though, she had her head leaned up against his shin as the fire crackled, casting a circle around them in the darkness. They’d been talking for hours, and every time the conversation began to wane, he’d spark an idea or she’d laugh over something, and they’d be off again. She wrapped her arm around his calf, and he reached over to stroke her hair idly. They ranged from clever teasing to earnest and impassioned discussion, and Ignis found himself wanting to unpack Aranea’s thoughts as fast as he could. She was just as interested in uncovering his, and they both had to yawn repeatedly before acknowledging it was probably wise to get at least some rest.

Ignis stared at the sky for a while as Aranea settled next to him. He envied her ability to sleep mere moments, it seemed, after her head hit the pillow.

* * *

Aranea woke, once or twice, after Ignis had gone to sleep. She looked next to her at the line of Ignis’ profile lit just by starlight and the little scrap of moon that remained. Her eyes followed his profile down from the strands at his forehead, mussed in sleep, across the little bump on the bridge of his nose, down the curves of his lips as deep, slow breaths rolled through his chest. She watched his eyes move behind his eyelids and wondered if he was dreaming.

She smiled, shook her head a little, and settled back down to sleep.

Aranea was already hard at work with mechanical parts strewn around her when Ignis roused, blinking sleepily. She put a screw between her lips and smiled at him around it, holding her spear still with one hand and tightening a bolt with the other. Taking the screw out of her mouth and gesturing at him with it, she studied him. “Mornings not really your thing, are they?”

He squinted at her, not unhappily, before mumbling something about coffee and sliding his glasses on. He patted her cheek affectionately on his way to retrieve his pack.

Remembering the previous day’s conversation with a grin, she remained quiet while Ignis took care of the first order of business. Once he had taken a couple sips from the steaming mug in his hands, she voiced a request.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any extra coeurl whiskers lying around, would you?”

“I think Gladio has most of the supplies in the car, but I can check.” He rummaged, coming up triumphant from his pack after a few moments. She accepted it gratefully.

“Can I help?” Ignis peered over her shoulder with interest, and she smiled.

“I’m fine, but another pair of hands is always nice. Especially when they’re this pretty.”

Here - hold this spring back while I fit this part back in.”  Aranea watched deft fingers slide the spring out of the way as she snapped in a piece of metal.

“What happened? This doesn’t look like routine maintenance.”

“Told you it was a busy couple of weeks, didn’t I?” Aranea tightened a last screw, and with a light touch of her lips to his over her shoulder, she was standing, fully intact spear gripped in one hand. She looked at him, eyes sparking. “Time to give this baby a test run.” She slapped the solid body of the spear affectionately.

He nodded as she crouched deep and sprang into the sky. She saw him hold one hand against his forehead to shade the glint of early morning sun, and then she was twisting around the shaft of the spear before landing, softer than she normally would to avoid knocking him over.

Aranea took in a deep breath and exhaled. “Man, it feels good to be back in commission.”

“Every time you do that, it is truly impressive.”

She grinned at his praise and then looked over at him.  “Want me to show you? I know you use a lance.”

He nodded eagerly, and she waved him over to stand between her and the spear. She placed him and described the movements on the ground and in the air, amused at how well he took physical direction.

She stood behind him and was momentarily completely preoccupied. Her hands slid around his hips and she let her nose graze close to the neck of his shirt, breathing in the scent of him.

His voice deepened into playfulness. “Are you sure this is part of the lesson?”

Aranea’s hand slid down and she squeezed his thigh just a little. “Hm, absolutely.” Her voice dropped into a low purr. “Got to make sure you get the right form.” She squeezed again, more sharply, and he let out a laugh.

“You’re going to have to stop distracting me if you want to teach me anything.” He turned his head slightly to direct his voice behind him.

“Save that thought, Specs. Now, on three, and up -” she took her hands off the spear and watched him. _Not bad_ , she thought. Even though, heightwise, it was a fraction of what she did, his form was perfect, and that was more important.

Ignis landed more powerfully than Aranea had, knocking her onto her backside, and she came up laughing. “Is this the thanks I get?” She dusted her hands on her pants. “That looked really nice though, Ignis. Lances are good for you.”

He took her hand and pulled her up. “Allow me to thank you properly.” She set her hands on his hips as he brushed her lips lightly with his. She hummed and licked lazily at his lower lip, and he drew her close.

The windless, sunny calm was interrupted by a familiar drone. Aranea stepped back, quickly, picking up her spear again and turning toward the sound. Ignis’ eyes followed hers, finding the airship before she did.

“Company, hm?” Ignis’ hands dropped to his sides the way they did just before he summoned his daggers.

“They won’t approach while we’re here at the haven.” Aranea’s grip on her spear tightened, and she met Ignis’ eyes.

He smiled, turning his gaze from the sky to Aranea, an expression closer to baring his teeth than a display of happiness. “Then it’s only polite to go out and meet them.” He sauntered coolly toward the airship, daggers flashing into his hands with a small flick and a blue gleam.

It was exactly the response she’d been hoping for, and drew a fierce laugh from Aranea. She took off running, not bothering to look back. Ignis’ light steps swished behind her in the grass for a moment, before he took off to the side, his long-legged jog covering ground faster than it seemed like he should. _Classic pincer move_. Aranea felt a self-satisfied smile creep across her face as she crouched and swayed, waiting for the MTs like a cat waiting for a mouse.  She saw Ignis hold his hand up as the maw of the ship opened, and she looked over and answered him with a quick nod.

The spell hit before the enemies even touched the ground, frost creeping over metal bodies, and she felt the sharp cold create its own breeze in the previously still air. Aranea had never been worth a shit at magic, and she was impressed. She tensed, barely restraining herself for the four beats she knew she needed before shoving her way into the crowd, forcing her spear in and thrusting hard. She was more aggressive than she would be alone, less worried about these shits flanking her, and it felt great.

 _Fuck yeah_. There he was at her two o’clock - perfect. Aranea parried and saw Ignis jump gracefully, both daggers raised over his head. She dealt a low blow to her left, splintering, cracking a metal body in a sweep with the point of her lance. Ignis dropped, sinking both daggers into the metal back to her right, and she let out a yell as both MTs sizzled and died.

Ignis glanced at her, assessing, and they turned, facing outward. His shoulder was close enough to hers that she felt the warmth of him behind her. Aranea raised the shaft of her spear in front of her face, blocking the downward sweep of an enemy blade with a loud clang. She growled and forced it backward, kicking the MT square in the chest to knock it down before smashing the point of her spear down, listening for another hissing, electric death rattle before taking her eyes off it to survey the field.

Ignis had watched her just long enough to make sure she had control, and lifted both daggers in an offensive stance. As Aranea ripped her spear free, she saw his eyes dart to the side. With a quick flick of his wrist, a dagger flew through the air and sliced into the neck of an approaching MT. As it jerked and fell, he summoned the dagger back into his hand, and Aranea’s eyes widened in appreciation.

Her mind raced. There’d been nine. Two iced, literally. A cold smile, at that. Two kills for her, two more for Ignis. Three left?  She scanned the field again. _Ugh._ Two of the remaining three were those big bastards with the swords. _Spinners_ , she thought of them, though she knew they had a different official designation.

Ignis had switched to a lance to keep them at a distance, and he danced between them with feline grace.  His gaze met hers with burning urgency. “Jump, now!”

Her brow furrowed, and she hesitated to leave him, three on one. He flipped back onto his hands, out of their reach, and shouted at her again as he came up. “Go!”

He was right. Dropping her reticence in one swift motion, Aranea sprang hard, pushing off with all the energy she could muster. The air rushed by her, making her eyes sting and threatening to steal her breath, but she loved it. She plunged in as if it were a cold, refreshing stream, emerging at the top of her climb to breathe and hang in the air for a brief moment, eyes darting to check on Ignis and refine her target. Her hand curved possessively around the top of her spear as she twisted around it to increase torque, and then she was flying downward, back into the breathless rush of the air on her skin, anticipating impact. Shoving toward and into the earth with all of her own force as well as that lent her by the spear, Aranea cracked the ground and sent the MTs flying, taking down the weakest one and breaking a blade on another.

She recovered, jabbing low again, and this time was surprised by the shadow of Ignis in a flying leap over her head. He sank his lance deep, yanked it free and threw it back at her without looking.  As he rolled away, she caught it, grinned, and smashed both lances into the enemy in front of her.

Aranea flung sweat and hair out of her eyes with a flip of her head, and tossed Ignis’ weapon back to him once he regained his feet. “Gods, you’re fun.”

She spied another flash of teeth in her direction, and heard that gorgeous baritone chuckle. “The feeling is mutual.”  A one-handed catch, then, transitioning smoothly to a ready stance.

They stalked forward toward the last enemy together, matching steps through the tall grass.

* * *

They arrived in Lestallum late, and the sky was already giving way to darkness, setting a blue-purple backdrop to the lights of the city. As always, Aranea relished the bustle and movement of the city, and strode happily and with purpose toward the hotel. As they approached, she brushed her hand over Ignis’ hip. “Go check in with your friends. I'll text you what room I'm in.”

He nodded, tired but businesslike.

“Don't take too long or I'll start without you.” She said it quietly enough that only he heard it.

Ignis’ head turned sharply at that, but she was already waving at him and strolling up to the front desk, a small, secretive smile on her lips.

A couple of hours later, and Aranea opened the door to his soft knock.  As he followed her in, she resumed their conversation from the road as she grazed his fingertips with her own.

“So on the way here we were arguing about queens and kings…” Grey-green eyes flicked up to his as she closed the door slowly.

“A philosophical debate, really, but yes.” Shedding his shoes with easy grace, Ignis looked down at Aranea, who was grinning with the pleasure of debating him but also something more.

Her grin widened. “And I was telling you that the queen is the most powerful piece.”

“Well, technically the king is the most _important_ piece, but -”

“Yeah, that's where we were. I was about to prove you wrong. Care for a practical demonstration?”

He simply gave her a knowing smirk and tilted his head in acquiescence.  

She pushed at his shoulders. “Sit. No moving?” One silvery eyebrow cocked in a challenge. He let out an easy laugh in response, and sat on the bed where she’d placed him.

“Fine. I take it this has now become the seat of power?”

She grinned back at him. “Yep. I'm the one who gets to move. I think that ought to settle this little disagreement.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He hiked a long leg up onto the bed, dangling an arm over his knee and watching her.

“Queen to d6,” she said, suddenly very close to him. She looked down as she unbuttoned his shirt, and then up again to meet his eyes. “Do you have a counter?” The words trailed lazily from her lips, and he felt warm air tickle his own. As he stretched to kiss her, she wisped away, a light laugh following behind her.

Aranea walked around the bed, ticking words off on her fingers.  “Most important, most interesting, most powerful, most _fun_.” She grazed her fingertips over his bare skin as she walked by, making him shiver.

“Interesting strategy,” Ignis drawled, angling his chin to follow her around the room, and also expose the line of his neck. “Rook to f5.” He saw her look, a sharp, darting glance.

Aranea took her own top off, biting lightly at her lower lip as she pulled it slowly over her head. Ignis' eyes took in the large scar across her chest again, and moved up to her eyes. She gave him a small smile, not hiding or turning away, but not explaining it either. The soft cloth dangled off her index finger for a lingering moment before she dropped it.  “Queen to h4. Concede yet?”

She straddled him and pulled his head up for a deep kiss, pressing herself against him eagerly, but more for her pleasure than his. She dragged her fingers over his chest, red-tipped nails scratching lightly.

Ignis’ burning gaze met wide green eyes. “And yet you keep returning to this fixed position. In fact,” he said, gripping her hips, “it seems to be the whole point to what you’re doing. Rook; c1; I concede nothing.” He kissed, her, hard, and laughed into her mouth when she flipped them over.

Neither conceded and neither won, though through a sequence of advance and retreat, the game came to a natural resting place.

* * *

Dawn came bright and fierce, baking Lestallum’s rooftops in its harsh glow. Aranea sat curled up in a chair, both legs tucked to one side. Their chess game was spread out on a table in front of her, a real chessboard for once.  She looked up from studying it to watch Ignis stride across the room, pulling on his jacket and gloves with studied precision.

“I heard.”

He was silent.

“Altissia. Leviathan. They're getting ready. I heard it on the radio.” She let the words fall into the space between them.

A quiet nod.

“Just - keep yourself safe, okay?”

He moved his queen in front of her king, drawing Aranea’s attention back to the pieces on the board. She blinked - why give up such a valuable piece?  In its current position, she could take it with her king or with a pawn. Ignis just stood back, looking at her with an expression that was self-satisfied and sad at the same time.

She looked again at the two moves available to her.  Either one ended in a checkmate. No matter which move she chose, she’d expose her king to one of his rooks.  

He’d sacrificed the queen and won the game.

“You know I can't promise you that.” He leaned down and kissed her, slowly, softly, his lips lingering, and then straightened and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chess game this fic is based on is [here](http://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1848607). It is a real game and was the 2016 world chess championship game. I didn't document every single move, but we can assume it played out the same way.
> 
> The song for that last scene is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXQGbHyX3rM). There is a whole playlist for this chapter that I'll post soon. (Because I'm me, every chapter has its own playlist that I'm happy to share - just ask me.)
> 
> THANK YOU so much if you've read this whole story, and especially thank you to all of the readers who stuck with me and waited so patiently for updates. Your support and kudos and nice comments kept me going and writing and posting, and I'm so grateful. This is my first multi-chapter fanfic, and the first one I've finished. I hope you enjoyed it!


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